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to an ambitious man. Talbot listened intently to Lily’s comments on the controversial design of the new downtown library, added a few well-informed remarks of his own, and then moved on.

“Well, he could eat crackers in my bed,” pronounced Lily as we watched him walk away.

I was about to agree, when we heard an angry shout from the martini bar. A knot of people tightened suddenly, their backs to us, intent on a scene we couldn’t see.

Over their heads, arcing high in the air, rose the scythe of Death.

Chapter Two

I SHOVED MY WAY THROUGH THE CROWD. I’M ALMOST SIX feet tall, so I can shove with the best. Lunging like a fencer, I parried the scythe with my broomstick just in time to save Zorro from having his hair parted right through his hat. “What on earth is going on here? Syd? Aaron?” Death’s hood had fallen back, revealing the fat and furious face of Sydney Soper, a big-shot local contractor and personal friend of the bride-to-be. That explained what was going on. Aaron had done an article, the first in a series, questioning Soper’s methods of winning state highway contracts. With Seattle and Bellevue booming, and traffic approaching Los Angeles levels, those contracts ran into the millions. According to Aaron, a lot of millions were being misspent, if not actually swindled.

So now Death was pissed off at Zorro, and Zorro was standing his ground and grinning, a lock of raven-black hair flopping down beneath his black gaucho hat. I knew from personal experience how infuriating that grin could be, and I felt for Soper. Especially since, unlike me, Soper probably didn’t appreciate the sexy brown eyes above the grin. His own eyes, hard and pale as pebbles, were bulging with anger. God knows what Aaron had said to provoke the Grim Reaper, but he was lucky the scythe was plastic.

As I hesitated, wondering how to cast a soothing spell, the scene was stolen from me by a gypsy queen. Mercedes Montoya, another of Elizabeth’s bridesmaids, stepped up in a swirl of bright skirts and a chiming of bracelets. She was a classic Castilian beauty, via Mexico City, with a mane of midnight curls framing cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself. And a mind to match. Mercedes had recently decamped from the Sentinel for the headier world of TV news, and she was already making a name for herself. The camera, as they say, loved her.

“Mister Soper,” she murmured, with the faintest hint of an accent in her caressing, dark-chocolate voice. “This is a party. Come dance with me.”

She held out a slim brown hand, sparkling with costume jewelry. Soper glared at her, breathing hard, but Mercedes’ hand never wavered and the smile never left her narrow, aristocratic lips. I marveled at her self-assurance, even as I waited for the burly contractor to snarl her off. We all waited, Zorro and Cleopatra and the rest of us, through a long, uncomfortable moment. And then damned if Soper didn’t take her hand and walk away, with a flush rising up the back of his thick neck. Taming the fury of Death, now that’s what I call magic.

The knot of guests unraveled, many of them following Mercedes and Soper to the dance floor. I saw Mister Rogers hand in hand with Lady Macbeth, and Dracula bowing gallantly to a hippie chick in love beads and granny glasses. As he swept her down the tunnel with his black cape fluttering around her tie-dyed shoulders, Lily went off to boogie with the Visigoths, and I was left with Aaron Gold. Behind the Zorro mask, his eyes were cold and angry. But not at me. Our latest argument was the farthest thing from his mind, at least for now.

“That bitch,” he said.

“Aaron! She was just smoothing things over.”

“No, she was just worming her way into Soper’s confidence.” His usually flippant East Coast voice was harsh and flat. “Montoya’s working up her own exposé on construction fraud. In a couple of weeks, Soper’s going to turn on the TV and wish he’d used that sickle thing on her.”

“Well, you’re trying to expose the fraud yourself. So what if it gets TV coverage, too?”

He sighed. “In the long run, it’s better for John Q. Taxpayer if this all comes out as publicly as possible. But I’ve been dogging that story for months. Our favorite fortune teller there waltzed off to KPSL with all my research in her pretty little pocket.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean,